


Building Freedom

by Anonymous



Category: Hermitcraft RPF, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad Person Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Child Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, Neurodiverse Grian, Nightmares, Non-Graphic Violence, Panic Attacks, Past Child Abuse, Scar is disabled, Technoblade Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade is the youngest child, Technoblade-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Touch-Starved, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, Winged Charles | Grian, autistic!Etho, autistic!Techno, evil!dream, pit fighting (past)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 02:41:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29552277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Technoblade was exiled from the SMP after he unleashed a wither, frustrated by the way the resistance had used him and so easily thrown him aside. He's spent the last two months in exile, being taunted, tormented, and abused by Dream until, in a fit of desperate anger, injured and bleeding and afraid, he gets away from the campsite and runs until he sees a portal out.Grian isn't expecting to find a random traumatized half-dead teenager in the woods. He's even less expecting the struggle it will be to help the teenager, or the lifetime friendships that will be built.
Relationships: platonic - Relationship
Comments: 104
Kudos: 465
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Techno's Escape.

**Author's Note:**

> Am I starting a new thing despite the fact that I *just* started a new hybrid AU? yes. yes I am. Am I writing this despite my tenuous grasp on a lot of the hermitcraft people's personalities? also yes. Because I loved this idea too much. ALSO PLS LMK WHO FROM HERMITCRAFT YOU GUYS THINK I SHOULD ADD NEXT (And like, why, pls lol. Comments fuel me).

He came to slowly. That alone was concerning; a childhood in the fighting pits had ensured that he could stay conscious through most things that would have another person out or at least screaming in agony. 

He was laying on something cold, and wet, which probably meant snow. His right knee was  _ agony,  _ and he did a quick assessment, shifting it slightly; dislocated, and at most fractured, but not broken. A moment later he realized his hands were bound behind his back, half-inch thick rope, and experienced knots. Not easy to slip.

He forced his sticky eyes open, grimacing at the blood staining where his head lay. Okay, a head injury, but not a concussion at least. He was tied at such an angle that he was forced to kneel in the snow, tied to a tree, bleeding and  _ definitely  _ badly injured.

“Chat, what the fuck, Techno whispered, spitting out some blood. Chat, which had up until now mostly been shouting “Technohurt” and “E” slowly turned into “Green teletubby!” And “Evil homeless man!” which…fuck. 

He wasn’t sure how long it had been since he had been exiled. His theory was about two months, but given Dream’s propensity for “making it harder for him to make a fuss and get away,” the teen wasn’t entirely clear on how long it had  _ actually  _ been. (He was startlingly close, helped by years in the dark pits trying to judge time, not that he could know that)

His memories finally filtered back in. Dream had been angry, and he wasn’t sure if it was because of him or if it was something else but it was taken out on him either way and…

And as he had every time the man had gone at him, he’d fought back, tooth and nail, but the other man had good armor and good weapons and Techno was the better fighter but he was weak and injured and weaponless and it wasn’t a fair fight, not even close to a fair fight. 

But yesterday, he’d gotten a good hit in; he’d shattered the ceramic mask, clawed a deep scar into the man’s face, and the punishment had been devastating. It was the reason he was kneeling here, now, both legs busted and bound in an attempt to make it  _ impossible  _ for him to get away. To keep him waiting, because he remembered  _ exactly  _ what was going to happen to him today.

“Tomorrow, I’m going to kill you” Dream had smirked, staring down at the injured  _ teenager  _ in a snarling ball on the ground before him. Even with two broken legs and a fucked up shoulder, even sick and starving and bleeding from a gash on his face, he would never kneel. Not to him. Not to anyone. 

The sun was rising, which meant it was tomorrow, but Dream wouldn’t come immediately; he’d want to drag this one out for as long as he could. Hubris would always be his achilles heel, Techno decided, as he shifted to lift one foot up until he could grasp his boot. It was  _ agony  _ to move his knee at this angle, but the knife in his boot was his only chance.

It took over an hour to get through the ropes on his arms, but as soon as those were free he relaxed because that  _ had  _ to be the hardest part. He fumbled to free his legs, pulling himself to his feet and immediately crashing back into the snow as agony seared up his legs. 

Chat was a cacophony of noise so he grimaced, voice rough. “Chat, be helpful or shut up.” The voices quieted and he relaxed, fumbling to grab the rope and some branches. “Chat, who remembers how to make an arena splint?” 

It probably wasn't the official name but he was in agony and Dream was  _ coming  _ and that terror drove him onward. He relocated his right knee, then used wider branches from foot to hip on all four sides, lashing them so it was  _ impossible _ for him to fall. It also was agony, but Techno was a warrior. He had to be. He was not going to fail, not going to die, like this. He refused.

He hauled himself back to the tent, grabbing an old leather backpack and popping open his ender chest. He didn’t have much; anything that could be used to make armor or weapons was long gone. He tucked a few potions that were in case it was life or death into his belt, shoving his few other belongings, mostly sentimental items if he was being honest, into his bag.

He knew Dream would find him. He couldn’t outrun the other man, not after L’Manburg had exiled him, not after he’d looked up at his older brother and watched as Tommy threw him out even as Fundy and Quackity tried to argue for a lighter sentence, to point out that they  _ absolutely had  _ used him.

He was used to it. He was a weapon, that was fine, but he wasn’t willing to die because he wasn’t good enough at being  _ their  _ weapon. “C’mon chat” he wheezed, getting his legs under himself and stumbling towards the treeline, shivering like a leaf in the wind. 

He wasn’t sure how long he walked but he could  _ hear  _ Dream coming, even though the man was still a ways away. “Please” he whispered, not sure who he was even asking; it wasn’t like Techno believed in a God, not really, not one who would come and  _ help him _ . “Please I don’t want to die to him.” 

And then, it was like a crack opened in the world, purple and sparkly and shimmering and Chat quieted at once. “Portal!” a few shouted, and Techno wasn’t entirely sure they were right, he’d never seen a portal like this, but Dream was coming, he was  _ coming _ , and Techno had to try so he reached one bloody hand up, brushed his fingers through the portal, and let the magic take him.

Grian wasn’t having the greatest day in the world. He needed to get dark oak , for a “favor” he was planning to do to Scar, but it was cold and the closest forest to Scar’s base was also a pretty cold biome so he was shivering a little, wings folded against his back with a scowl as he scanned for another large tree that he could go for. 

He wasn’t sure what got his attention. He was easily distractible, sure, but he also wasn’t necessarily the best at noticing things right in front of him. He had just finished cutting down another tree when the quiet sound reached his ears and he paused. It sounded a bit like an upset animal, and Grian was worried about a creature being out here with how chilly it was so he followed it.

He did not expect what he found. There, in a ball bleeding all over the pure-white snow, was a hybrid who was so small and thin that it  _ had  _ to be a teenager, in Grian’s less-than-expert opinion. The teen was bent over what looked like a badly broken leg, blood staining his face and torn shirt from a gash near his hairline. He had also, perhaps most concerningly,  _ definitely  _ noticed Grian and, even hurt as he was, gone into what was clearly a defensive position, reaching for a stick.

Grian, who was in full netherite with enough thorns on his armor that this teen would kill  _ himself  _ before he even hurt Grian a bit, held both hands up soothingly as the teen  _ snarled  _ at him. “Hi there. Who are you?” He asks aloud, concern only growing as the teen  _ growled  _ again, curled defensively over his broken leg clinging to a stick and stone defensively. 

Grian took a step closer, to help, but the teen roared furiously. “GET AWAY” He snarled, and Grian half out of fear and half not wanting to push the battered boy, did. “Ok, ok kid.” He crouches down, relaxes his wings in an attempt to look less threatening. “I am not going to come closer without your permission, you’re safe.” His heart pangs as the teen snarls again, and Grian makes the decision that  _ he needs help _ .

Hermitcrafters

Grian: HELP WHO’S NEAR SCAR’S BASE RIGHT NOW

Scar: What? What are you doing near my base?

Mumbo: Gri do you need me to come help? What’s wrong? 

False: Are you hurt? Do you need me to call Xisuma for you? 

Grian: No, no, It’s not  _ Me,  _ it’s uh...I found something that’s all Scar if I send you my coords can you come help please?

Scar: Yeah, of course. Are you sure you’re ok?

Grian: Yup! 

He glanced up from his communicator to see the teen watching him, warily and clearly terrified. “I was just calling one of my friends,” he explains, babbling from nerves. “We’re near his place actually and he’s better at people than I am.” 

There was a second one coming. He was  _ so dead,  _ about to die out here in agony and alone with a fucking rock to protect himself from the guy in  _ full goddamn netherite  _ and he just wanted to crawl into a hole and die like a dog in a ditch because it couldn’t be worse than this.

_ At least it’s not to Dream.  _ Chat whispers, and yeah, he agrees with that one. Not just because he didn’t want his rival to be the one to beat him, but because Dream would’ve tortured him, would’ve made it slow and painful. Would’ve made it hurt worse, if that was possible. Would’ve made him  _ suffer.  _

Scar lands behind Grian, dressed in full netherite too, but when he takes in the sight before him he stills. He doesn’t ask, doesn’t shout, doesn’t push, just  _ takes off his armor  _ and sits down on the cold ground by Grian’s side. “Hey kiddo.” His voice is calm, gentle, and even the teen’s growling in return doesn’t move him from his spot. “It’s ok. We’re not going to hurt you, but I get it if you don’t believe us.” 

Grian, for once, takes a hint and tugs off his armor too before joining Scar on the ground. The teen growled, ears twitching, but Scar did not flinch; he wasn’t a fighter, but he was  _ not  _ willing to be afraid of an emaciated teenager who looked like he had at least one broken leg and a rock. 

“We’re just gonna stay here, ok kid? We are not going to get closer without your permission.” Scar promises, leaving out the “unless you pass out of blood loss and then we might have to” because he’s hoping that won’t happen and because he’s unwilling to promise that he won’t get closer in that situation.

The teen growls again, low and wary, but Scar’s heart aches at the way the boy genuinely looks like he expects them to get up and walk away. “Kid, I have some healing and regen potions.” He keeps his voice careful. “I can try and slide one over to you if you’d like?” 

Techno hesitates; taking things means payment and he has absolutely nothing left to pay with, but the potions in his belt are still for emergencies only and this isn’t, not yet. He doesn’t want to speak, but he’s long since learned how to force his words to work so he gives a low, growled “What is the cost.”

Grian makes a small, confused sound, but Scar shakes his head in his direction and turns his focus back to the boy. He wants to say nothing, but...he knows better than to believe that the teenager will believe him, and he doesn't blame him, so… “Just an answer to a question.” He promises. The teen eyes him, warily, and he elaborates. “What’s your name?” 

He hesitates. This is...less dangerous than most questions would’ve been and the man really is holding a regen potion, enough to probably fix the worst of the damage to his knee and maybe the head wound if he used it sparingly enough, and...it  _ might  _ make him able to run. And lower their guard. 

“Techno” he grunts, and the man nods. “Hello Techno. I’m going to slide this to you now, ok? If it doesn’t go far enough I’m gonna shove it with a stick since I’m not sure how slick it is here.” Techno doesn’t react, so he does just that, a little bit of relief filling his chest when the potion easily makes it to the teen and then  _ pain  _ replaces it when the boy doesn’t down it. Instead he tips about half of it onto his knee, and the fact he doesn’t even flinch at what they both know must be agony is...concerning.

He downs ¼ of it, half of what’s left, and applies the rest to the head wound, which closes mostly. The pain is still there, of course, but it’s lessened, and Techno relaxes a little with the knowledge that now when he has to run he’s maybe got a shot in hell at actually getting out of here. 

He isn’t sure how long he hunches there, snarling every time either of them so much as flinches. It’s been a long time since people were not afraid of him especially when he acted like this and he just...he didn’t  _ understand.  _ Why didn’t they  _ leave  _ or  _ hurt him.  _ They could; they had fully enchanted gear and he knew he must look bad even if he was going to go down fighting.

But they didn’t fight him. Scar, he thought that one’s name was, just sat there and watched as the smaller one babbled about...something. He wasn’t clear on what. A prank maybe? He honestly hadn’t been paying attention but it was getting dark and he realized a moment too late that he was going to be  _ torn apart  _ by mobs.

“Hey, kid” Scar’s voice, far more soothing than it has any right to be, filters through his  _ panic _ and he relaxes slightly instinctively, even if he  _ hates  _ himself for it. He growled again, more out of instinct than any genuine anger, and to his  relief  neither man even flinched. 

“It’s getting dark. Mobs are going to be here soon. I really do not want to leave you here where they are going to hurt you, kid.” Techno growls again; he is stronger than mobs, and he knows it, but chat is whispering  _ if you die you’ll respawn back there and he’ll kill you over and over and over and it’ll never stop he’ll never stop.  _

He thinks he’s definitely got an infection or blood loss; he’s trembling and nearly delirious from pain and he  _ doesn’t want to die out here.  _ He knows he’s out of it; he’s vaguely aware of the hard dirt under him, and the fact he wants to be rocking but moving at  _ all  _ is agony, and he’s  _ humiliated  _ to feel tears welling in his eyes.

He will not cry. It’s been a very long time since Techno has felt this weak, exposed and vulnerable and  _ afraid  _ and it takes far too long for him to realize that Scar is talking, soft and gentle but not...treating him like a child. He relaxed a little, slowly, tried to force the words to filter in.

“It’s alright kid, we’ll stay here all night if we need to, we won’t let mobs hurt you, just breathe, deep breaths, nothing is hurting you while I’m here to stop them.” he tried to make words work but his mouth was dry and he couldn’t even begin to find the words so he keened, low and exhausted, one hand knocking against the side of his head.

“No, no, kid, don’t hit yourself, it’s ok” Grian yelps, feeling pretty shitty when the boy gives a sharp sound of protest. “Scar, he’s still bleeding, he needs to be somewhere warm and dry and he needs potions and food and water and the mobs  _ will  _ get past us we’re not good enough fighters!” 

Scar reaches out, grasps both his friend’s shoulders. “Call Xisuma. We’re gonna need admin powers. I'm not letting this kid walk and he’s not letting us carry him. Call Xisuma, and  _ breathe  _ Gri, please, I can’t try and calm you both down at once.”

Grian fumbles with his communicator as Scar turns back to the wet, trembling lump on the ground. “Hey, man” He murmurs, not daring to move closer, not without permission. “Can you hear me? Just...tap the ground once for yes, yeah?” To his surprise, the teen does, hand visibly trembling. “Ok, good job. We’re gonna call our admin friend, ok?” 

It is precisely the wrong thing to say, apparently, because the boy starts to shake, clearly trying to speak but choking on the worlds as he propels himself backwards, pressed against a tree, slightly glowing eyes blown wide with terror. Scar makes a mental note; clearly whoever had hurt this boy was an admin,at least one, and then hurries to soothe him.

He can practically feel Grian’s stress levels spiking but he  _ can’t  _ focus on it, voice calm. “Techno, deep breaths, you’re ok, you’re safe, I  _ promise.  _ Our admin will never hurt you, Xisuma is the nicest person alive.” The boy keens, shakes his head, trembling like a leaf, but he does not move. Scar wracks his brain for something, anything, to help this clearly  _ traumatized  _ teenager and…

And he has an idea. “Techno?” His voice is gentle, catching the teen’s attention as he stills slightly. “Techno, I’m going to tell you a plan and if it’s ok with you give me one tap, ok?” There is no response, but he doesn’t really expect one so it’s fine. “I’m going to give you my sword.” He can hear the moment the teen hears him, breath catching in _confusion._ “That way if Xisuma tries _anything_ you can stab him and get away.” 

He doesn’t understand. Maybe it’s just that he’s too disorientated, maybe it’s the fact that he’s exhausted and starved and dehydrated and bleeding and overstimulated but he doesn’t  _ understand.  _ Sure, he probably would lose even with the sword, but...but to give him that...he doesn’t get it.

He’s so cold. It has been a decade since he felt this fragile, this breakable. The last time...he was six years old getting thrown into pit fighting, getting hit whenever he failed. He learned not fail  _ quickly.  _ But now he was, rain soaking his clothes, half dead and half-broken __ in a forest he didn’t recognize and this man was kneeling in front of him, offering him his  _ fully enchanted sword.  _

He knew he didn’t have a better option, so he took it, hands curling shakily around the hilt and it calms something wild and fearful in his chest. “Ok kiddo, Xisuma is gonna teleport us now, ok? Please, please, don’t stab someone.” 

And then there’s the familiar, overwhelming pull of teleportation in his chest and he’s...landing somewhere soft. He’s too overwhelmed to try and move, keening and gasping a little as he curls around the sword like a comfort item, trembling like a leaf in the wind. He can hear someone talking but the words are too hard to focus on, slipping past his ears as he finally falls into the arms of unconsciousness. 


	2. New Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter, Zedaph (thank you commenter who suggested him). Next time, Techno gets out of his room and the hermits try to resist the urge to hunt down whoever has ever laid a finger on the teenager.

He wakes up abruptly. He’s laying on something soft, a bed probably. There’s a blanket draped over him and an IV in his arm, but beside that he feels...okay? There’s the stabbing pain in his legs and shoulder, of course, but he’s not tied, he’s not bound, and the bed means he isn’t with Dream so…

He forces his eyes open. He’s laying on a bed staring up at a dark ceiling. He rolls to his side at once, ignores the way it sends stabs of pain up his legs, because he doesn’t recognize this room  _ at all  _ and that’s...bad. 

He takes it in quickly; it’s small, with a hardwood floor and pale white walls. There’s a desk against the wall and...

And a sword leaning against the bedpost. He blinks, grasps it and curls defensively around it. He resists the urge to tear out the IV because his memories are trickling back in and he  _ does not  _ want to make these people hurt him. Plus, one glance at the IV tells him it’s just saline and an antibiotic, so...fine. 

He hunches against the wall defensively, curled around the sword trembling until the door creaks open. “Oh, shoot, you’re awake? Xisuma thought you’d be asleep a while longer so I went to grab some food, sorry.” That...answers none of his questions, though the voice does remind him that this was the one who’d found him.

_ Chat chat help what was his name help.  _ Chat helpfully shouts  _ “GRIAN” _ until he’s forced to admit that might be a name and not a weird combination of letters as the relatively small, sandy-haired man peaks into the room, staying in the doorway to give him room. He doesn’t understand why the man, Grian, looks at him like this; he’s been looked at like a monster for so much of his life and this man just looks  _ worried  _ and he doesn’t get it. 

“Can Xisuma comes in to bring you some food and healing potions? Now that you’re more stable you should be able to handle more healing potions fine.” It  _ feels  _ like a test and he hesitates, biting his lip nervously as he tries to decipher the right answer but the man is making himself sound concerned enough that Techno is...pretty sure that “Yes” is the right answer so he gives a tiny nod.

A plate of eggs, bacon, and toast appears on his nightstand a moment later, almost faster than he can blink as the man immediately backs up. He stares at the food blankly, dipping his head to smell it but absolutely not  _ stupid  _ enough to take a bite. He doubts it would kill him, they could easily have done that already, but he will not be drugged into complacency while they throw him into yet another pit. 

Grian...doesn’t know why the teenager isn’t eating. He’d felt how thin the boy was when he’d basically collapsed after the teleportation, held him up till Xisuma could cross the room and help carry the too-thin, too-scarred boy to the nearest bed and get fluids into him.

He hesitates, steps back out of the room and turns to the admin, who is sitting in Scar’s living room eating his own food. “He’s not eating.” Xisuma blinks, considers for a moment, then stiffens slightly. “He probably thinks we put something in it.” It is not a question, that much is clear, and Grian flinches hard.

He is alone. He wants the food so badly it hurts. He’s so hungry and it smells so good, like Phil’s cooking back home and the thought of Phil, of  _ family,  _ makes tears well in his eyes again but he forces them down. He is stronger than this. He will thank them for the food but decline, he will thank them for not murdering him, and he will go.

And yet he hesitates. His leg throbs underneath him and he bites back a whimper, feeling far more vulnerable than he has in a very long time, since Phil had brought him home from the fighting pits and sat him down and cleaned his wounds and told him he wouldn’t let anyone hurt him again.

_ Look how well that turned out  _ he thinks, ruefully. He thinks of Tommy and Tubbo throwing him out of L’Manberg even as he tried so desperately to explain himself, to point out that they had known what he wanted and what he believed and used him as a weapon, to be thrown out once he had accomplished what they wanted for them. He thinks of Wilbur, Wilbur who he had watched  _ fall,  _ but been thrown out before he was even allowed to see if his brother was alive. He doubted it; if Wilbur was even alive, he was certain that Tommy would’ve changed that quickly.

More than anything though, he wants Phil, and the knowledge that he has no ability to get away from this world makes him shake. He’s pulled from his thoughts by the door swinging back open as the sandy-haired man, who Techno dully notices has a pair of large wings, steps back into the room. He approaches the table and Techno pulls himself away as best he can, watching in some surprise as the man tears off a piece of bread, grabs some of the eggs onto it, and swallows it, before eating several spoonfuls of the oatmeal.

He knows what the man is trying to prove, and...he believes him. Bird hybrids tend to be  _ more  _ susceptible to poisons; only a lunatic would eat something poisoned as a bird hybrid to trick him into a false sense of security and so he slowly takes one of the pieces of bread, nibbling on it. Now that he knows he can safely eat he finds himself unreasonably nervous; is he allowed? Dream had often played this game, offering food but punishing him when he accepted.

And yet the hybrid just watches as he slowly eats the toast. He’s  _ so hungry  _ and he just wants  _ food  _ so he slowly starts on the oatmeal. It’s nothing special, there’s a little cinnamon and some blueberries, but he’s  _ so hungry  _ and it’s been so long since he’s had real food that he devours it in quick, desperate bites.

He is afraid. He’s shaking, curled in defensively on himself before his shaking hands come down to investigate his leg. The swelling is down a little, but it’s  _ far  _ from healed and he knows it. He needs potions, needs regens, needs the bone to be allowed to knit itself back together or else it isn’t going to heal without  _ months  _ and the idea of being stuck here for months makes him panic a little. 

Grian had stepped back out of the room, and the sound of arguing reached his ears, making him still. Conflict is  _ bad,  _ whichever feels like they got fucked over will  _ hurt him  _ and he’s still far too weak to defend himself well, doesn’t even know where he  _ is  _ much less how to get from here to somewhere safe. 

He tugs himself backwards on the bed, easing the IV out of his hand and curling protectively around his damaged leg, hands fumbling with the sword as he clings to it.  _ If the one who comes back isn’t in their armor, then maybe he has a chance and he knows he wouldn’t be able to run even if he somehow got through them but he will not die like a coward on this bed. He will fight until he is dead and then when he comes back he’ll fight some more.  _

Zedaph steps slowly into Scar’s base, following the sound of raised voices to the living room. Scar is sound asleep on the couch, while Xisuma and Grian stand a bit away arguing about...something. He steps towards the hallway, glancing in through the cracked open door, heart breaking at the sight of the teen in a trembling ball, flinching when Grian’s voice raised slightly. 

His decision made, Zed crossed back to the living room, glaring at them. “SHh!” Both still, eyes flickering over towards the other man. “You’re scaring the kid plus Scar needs to be in a bed or he’s not gonna be able to move when he wakes up. Xisuma, why don’t you do that while Grian makes some tea and you guys  _ calmly  _ discuss whatever’s wrong?” 

Grian nods and moves towards the kitchen. Zed follows, crossing the room to pull down the box of hot chocolate. “It’s good to see you, Zed.” “Good to see you too, Grian” The blond gives the smaller man a bright smile, finishing the coco and heading to the bedroom.

Somehow, the teenager was shaking  _ harder  _ now that the yelling had stopped. Zed took a sip of the coco before setting it down on the nightstand for the boy, flopping down into a chair and leaning back. The teen just...stares at him; Zed’s calm kindness seems to be confusing him and it makes something clench painfully in the older man’s chest that this teenager is so confused by  _ kindness.  _

“Drink. You need fluids, and sugar.” Techno reaches up cautiously, curling both hands around the mug so it won’t spill as he takes a sip. Zed nods, launching into a conversation about the prank that he’d planned on Grian involving redstone, his elevators, and slime. 

Techno doesn’t understand. This new person is just chilling there, chatting about a prank that involves dumping slime on Grian, the one who had been here before, so  _ relaxed  _ that he just...he doesn’t understand. He’s so relaxed, one leg slung over the arm of his chair leaning back in it, spinning what looks like a vial of honey between his fingers. 

He snarls, low and furious and chasing, willing the man to get spooked the hell out of here, willing him to  _ leave,  _ but he didn’t even react. He growled louder, baring his teeth and glaring at the man, who just keeps  _ chatting.  _

Zed isn’t the world’s greatest fighter, or the world’s greatest builder, or really the greatest at anything, but he is not in any way willing to be afraid of this  _ child,  _ who is bloody and bruised and has broken legs and ribs and can barely move especially when it is so painfully clear that this child expects him to  _ flee  _ from him.

He switches stories, now, talks about how he had rigged a honey-and-pink-concrete-powder prank, with Grian’s help, for Doc. The trembling teenager on the bed  _ snarled  _ again, but Zed barely had to glance up to see the  _ panic  _ written onto his face, how hard he was trembling as tears ran down his face. 

Zed wasn’t sure what to do. If this was one of his friends, he would’ve known what to do at least a  _ little  _ better, but this teenager is so clearly traumatized that he didn’t want to crowd him. He just kept talking, discussing how he and Grian had rigged pressure plates on Doc’s door that dumped honey, and then concrete powder, onto him, and he had to spend  _ hours  _ washing it out of his hair. 

He keeps chatting, as the teenager’s terrified stuttering breaths slowly calmed, the terrified snarling and snapping jaws quietting into soft whimpers. He glanced up, giving a gentle smile to the hybrid, who had shifted to be at an angle where he was shielding his damaged left leg. 

He considers going to get the boy some water, but leaving him  _ alone  _ feels like a bad idea so he fumbles with his bag and sets a canteen of water down on the nightstand. The teen shrinks back, but he keeps his voice gentle and kind. “It’s alright, I just wanted to make sure you had some water, you were pretty dehydrated according to Scar and Xisuma. He pauses, before realizing and taking a swig before putting it back.

He walks back to his chair, trying not to keep his eyes directly on the teenager, trying not to spook him. He relaxes a little when the teen slowly reaches for the water bottle, curling his hands around it and guzzling down most of the water in greedy gulps. 

It’s as if the panic attack was the trigger that reminded his body how  _ awful  _ he felt. His leg was throbbing in pain and he was dizzy with fear and panic and he was so  _ dirty  _ that his sensory system was screaming. Chat was panicking, too, comments about running and hiding and needing to  _ get away _ pressing in from all sides until the teen was disorientated and exhausted, wrapping his arms around himself as he forced himself to calm. 

The blond man’s voice filtered back in, slowly, and Techno was a little surprised he didn’t immediately panic again. He didn’t understand why the man hadn’t either left or hurt him already. He’d been  _ bad,  _ he’d shouted and moved far too much and made far too much noise as he spat and snarled at the man and yet, he hadn’t been punished and the man hadn’t fled in fear.

Hell, the man got closer to give him the water bottle. He barely cared that it might be bad, he was so thirsty that he couldn’t stop himself from guzzling half the water down in quick, desperate gulps. 

“Hey kid” Zed did his best to keep his voice soft. “What do you need right now?” The teen stiffens, but Zedaph doesn’t push, doesn’t force him to answer, just lets the question hang there. Techno hesitates, wary eyes flickering around the room before landing on his injured leg. “Okay. Healing potion?” He offers, pulling one out and setting it down on the table.

The teen downs half of it in one gulp, not even reacting to the foul-tasting liquid as he uses the other half on his knee. He stiffens a little, clawed hands digging into the mattress, but he does not make a sound as the potion does it’s agonizing work of repairing the still-healing bones and muscles. 

Zedaph’s heart breaks a little at the sight. He’s had injuries healed with potions before, and while he knows how effective they are he also knows how excruciating the process can be and yet this  _ child  _ doesn’t even seem to make a sound, clearly so used to suffering through pain in absolute silence. 

Exhaustion has clearly set in. The teen slumps from where he’d been half sitting half laying curled around his leg into properly laying down, still trembling a little. “Oh hey, do you want your bag?” He offers, nodding at the battered backpack hanging on the back of the door. Techno stiffens but he can’t hide the  _ longing  _ in his eyes and so Zed goes and gets it, gently, sets it down within arms reach of the teenager.

Techno takes it, curls around it and presses his face into it. He can still smell Phil’s lingering scent on the old leather and he almost bursts into tears again. He clings to it, forcing himself to breathe through the wall of emotions; he can not be weak in front of this man, not again, can not add to the toll of punishments he’s sure to get once he’s not half dead.

  
He falls asleep like that, clinging to the half-ruined backpack, snout tucked into the leather breathing in his father’s scent, begging silently.  _ Please. Please be okay. I can’t lose you, too.  _


	3. Pancakes, Questions, and Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Techno and Grian "bond," Xisuma tries his best, and pancakes are eaten.

He wakes slowly. The room is dark, and he peaks out the window enough to see that it’s night. The throbbing agony that had been most of his last two months was  _ dulled;  _ he was still in pain, especially from his left leg, but he could think. He could move. He could  _ breathe  _ without pain. 

As good as being able to breathe felt, getting fluids and food back in himself enough that he could  _ think  _ was better. He hauled himself upright, grimacing at the stab of pain in his left leg; it was definitely still not healed enough for him to run, which meant it wasn’t healed enough for him to leave yet.

He shifts till he’s sitting, fights through the waves of dizziness and nausea that come with moving for the first time in a while. Now that he can actually think he  _ has  _ to get out of this room, has to know where they’re holding him and what they’re planning to do with him. He has to find a way to get out even if he can’t take it yet with his leg like this. 

He stands slowly, both legs almost buckling under himself. He grabs the doorframe and the wall, hands scrambling for a perch to keep his weight off of his legs and keep himself vertical. His leg throbs in pain and he finds himself biting back tears, hating himself for how  _ vulnerable  _ he still feels like this, wearing his filthy ragged clothes barely able to move and in so much  _ pain.  _

He stumbles forward, somehow, pushes his way into the hall leaning on the sword. He’s shocked the door was even unlocked but with every step he just gets more suspicious; where are the traps, the electric fences, the  _ ways to keep him in  _ going to be? He pauses after every step, half because he’s in so much pain but also half because he wants to check for tripwires.

A long time passes by the time he makes it to the living room, but as soon as he does he wishes he hadn’t. There is a figure sitting on the couch, and even from his spot in the doorway Techno can see the tremor in the man’s hands, the tear tracks on his face. He’s about to retreat, despite the fact that he’s in pain and the couch looks really good from here, when the man turns.

He forces his still fever-aching brain to remember the name, Grian, as the man gives him a tired smile. “Hey there, sorry.” He moves to the further away couch, as Techno just kind of...stares at him. “You can sit down, you’re limping bad and Xisuma and Scar and Zed will be worried if you get hurt worse.”

He flinches slightly at the mention of the admin; he knows how they are. He’s spent  _ months  _ being used and abused and damaged by Dream and the idea of being near another person with that power has him trembling in pain and fear. The man is still watching though, and so the teen slowly obays, stumbles to the couch and curls up tight.

He watched the other man carefully. Grian was shivering a little, large wings wrapped around himself. Techno more than recognized the skittish, hollow look on the man’s face and found himself wondering what this man could possibly have ever gone through to make him sit here at two in the morning,  _ broken.  _

He does not ask if the man had a nightmare, because he does not want to push, does not want to assume. Making assumptions never ends well. He just sits there, watches as the sun slowly rises and the sunlight slips past the curtains, the only sound in the air Grian’s trembling breaths.

Scar is the first one up. He wheels into the room, giving Techno a gentle smile. “Good morning kiddo. Do you want some breakfast?” Techno hesitates, shrinks back against the couch slightly; he is hungry, but asking means waiting longer and he does not want to wait longer. Months with Dream have made him practically emaciated, and he’s so tired of being  _ hungry.  _

Scar must read something similar on his face because he nods, pausing his chair in front of Grian and making a worried little sound. He brings a hand up, runs it tenderly through the bird hybrid’s hair, and Techno can’t stop himself from feeling like he’s intruding on something personal as he shrinks into himself, watching Grian relax against his friend’s hands.

Scar makes pancakes. He puts a plate of them and regen potion on a table near Techno, heart breaking a little as he watches the shivering teen reach slowly forward, downing the potion without so much as a flinch before staring owlishly at the pancakes. Scar had parked his chair next to Grian and both were eating, Scar much more enthusiastically than Grian.

“So Grian I’ve been thinking of how to do the back of your mansion.” Grian perked up, eyes brightening a little. “Oh? It’s been  _ months  _ you need to get on that” He teases and Scar rolled his eyes. “Yeah well someone has been dodging my calls about planning meetings.”

With Grian finally, slowly, willing to eat the food in front of him, Scar relaxed a little, dark eyes darting to the teenager on the couch. He didn’t move, staring at the floor, and so Scar and Grian just kept talking. They chatted, leaning against each other’s side. 

They weren’t watching him as they ate. Techno stared at the ground incredulously, not understanding why he was being left here like this, why they were letting him ignore the food that Scar had clearly spent a pretty large amount of time making. 

He didn’t touch it, not as they both finished, not as Grian went to wash the dishes, not as Scar wheeled over to look at him. “Hey, Techno?” Techno stills, hands twisting in the blanket draped over his lap, waiting for the shoe to drop.

“Do you want to see the base?” Techno pauses, confusion flickering over his face, and Scar explains; “This is my base, where we are currently. It’s quite a bit bigger than this, so I thought you might want to see more of it. I’ve got crutches somewhere, and I’ve got a spare wheelchair if you think it’d be easier than walking.”

Techno hesitates, biting his lip and glancing around nervously. He needed to see more, needed to find the exits and the corners he could shove himself into and the safe places that people couldn’t get to him. But the choice...which is right? Which do they want him to pick? Why did Scar have to offer more than one option why did he have to put him in a situation where whatever he picked it could be wrong, could  _ hurt.  _

Grian just watched, waited; he would not crowd the damaged teenager who he’d found in the middle of a forest. He’d helped Xisuma get the boy stable; he’d seen the shattered knee, the broken ribs, the torn and damaged muscles and ligaments. But more importantly he’d seen the scars;  _ a decade of scars,  _ written into the soles of the boy’s feet, his back, the fingers that hadn’t healed straight. This was not one beating. This was not one incident. This teen had a lifetime of trauma written into his pale pink skin and Grian refused to make it worse.

And so he waited as the teen huddled there on the couch, trembling and near tears. He let the boy make his own decision, and so did Scar, the duo continuing to discuss how many windows Grian wanted in the back of his mansion and whether or not the deal also included terraforming the land at the back of the mansion.  _ That  _ prompted a spirited debate, though both made sure to keep it very, very,  _ very  _ lighthearted as they remembered the teenager on the couch. 

Techno is chewing on his hand, eyes nervous, and Scar makes a note to stop by the shopping district to grab him a stim toy or, like, eight, but he’s pretty certain the teen wouldn’t react well to him telling him to stop and so he doesn't even consider it. “C...c...could I...C...c...chair?” He stammers, and Scar nods; he’s mostly just relieved the teenager had gone for the option that would keep his fucked up leg safe.

They didn’t see the whole base; Scar’s legs were still bothering him from kneeling on the dirt for a few hours and Techno was looking shaky before they got to outside, but they showed him most of the buildings, the ones around the dig, Scar’s room, the guest rooms, the alchemy room, the enchanting room, etc.

By the time they got back to the living room, Techno was hauling himself into an armchair, hands shaking a little as he curls up. He’s chewing on his hand, teeth clicking together nervously and he can’t quite make himself stop, especially once the door opens and Xisuma slips into the room.

The change is instantaneous; Techno stills, the hand he was working on tangling in his hair and tugging, hard. Scar grimaced internally but he was pretty sure the teen had bigger issues than self-destructive stimming methods right now, so he let him be, going to get Xisuma a coffee. 

“Techno?” The admin’s voice is gentle but he still flinches, curls in on himself, resists the urge to beg. He will not beg, will not ask, will not look any weaker than he does already like this. He knows what’s going to happen. At best, he will be alone again, and “best” never happens to him, not really. 

“Techno, I want to start by letting you know that we want to help you, okay? We are  _ not  _ kicking you out, not now and not ever.” The teen stills, hands still tangled in his hair, breath stuttering in confusion. He looks so  _ disbelieving  _ that Scar and Grian share a look which clearly means ‘we murder whoever hurt this teenager.’

“I’m glad you’re looking a bit better, I just wanted to ask you a few questions ok kiddo?” Techno grimaces a little at the word; it’s been a very long since he was a child. He’s not sure he ever was. He curls in on himself, digging his teeth back into his hand with a growl. “It’s okay. You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to, do you have a communicator?” Techno flinches, glances down at his bag slowly. He reaches into it, fumbling fingers pulling out a communicator that has clearly been bashed.

Dream had destroyed it on the...third? Fourth? Day of exile. The days had blurred together with the pain and fever of the first times Dream had beaten him down into the dirt, had torn the base of his feet to shreds with his sword so he couldn’t run. It hadn’t meant much, really; Techno couldn’t call anyone outside of the SMP anyway, which meant no calling Fruit, or Phil, or...well, really just them.

“Do you want me to get this repaired for you?” Xisuma asks, softly, though he does not move from his spot kneeling in front of the teen, and Grian feels a surge of affection for his friend when he realizes Xisuma is kneeling to make himself purposefully smaller than the teenager in the chair. 

He doesn't trust them. He can’t let them take it, he can’t. But at the same time...it’s broken already. What’s the harm, it can’t help him at all, and while there’s a thousand to one odds he’ll never get it back...what’s the harm. What’s the downside. Maybe if he’s compliant they’ll turn their backs a little slower. 

He offers it, slowly, forward, hands shaking a little as the admin takes it with the upmost care. “I’m going to give this to two of our redstone experts, Iskall and Mumbo, and they should be able to fix it fast okay?” Grian reaches out to take it, to do that; the sooner they gave this back to the teen the sooner Techno would probably stop staring at it like it was his hope getting ripped away before his eyes.

“Here, while yours is being repaired, I’m going to loan you mine” Xisuma slides his communicator off of his own wrist and holds it out. Techno stills; the man hadn’t even deleted his own messages or password locked it  _ why was he doing this.  _ He didn’t  _ understand.  _

He reached forward slowly, waiting for his hand to be slapped away but it wasn’t and then the communicator was in his hands. He stared owlishly down at it before opening the screen so he could type on it. He doubted he would, to be fair; they would be angry. He was sixteen, his voice could work, would work,  _ had to work.  _ There was no other option, not now. Not here. 

“So, your name is Techno yeah?” He hums, forces himself to open his mouth and fight for the words but they just won’t, can’t come. He gives a frustrated growl, smacks a hand into his ear and lets his fingers tear at his hair and the man in front of him makes a worried sound. “Techno, Techno, it’s okay. You don’t have to talk kiddo I promise it’s okay. It’s okay. No one will get angry at you if you don’t or can’t talk right now, I promise kiddo.”

He forces himself to nod, biting back the angry, frustrated tears welling up in his eyes because he doesn’t want to be this fucking useless but it doesn’t matter. It’s never mattered what he wants. “So, Techno? That’s your name, right?” he nods, cautiously, and the man continues. “What are your pronouns? If you want then I can list some options and you can nod or shake your head.”

He glances back up from the teen’s hands, he’d been trying to not force the teen to make eye contact, and his heart breaks a little because the teen doesn’t just look frustrated at himself like he had before he looks so  _ confused  _ that Xisuma isn’t sure anyone has  _ ever  _ asked him that before. 

“Okay, let’s come back to that then.” Xisuma soothes, and Scar is glad he was here because he was a lot calmer about this than Scar was. “Do you know how you ended up on the server?” Techno tenses, and Xisuma keeps talking. “It’s okay if you don’t know, because wanna know a secret? I don’t know, either.” He keeps his voice gentle, gives the teen a gentle smile. 

“See, when new people come here as guests or what not, we can  _ see  _ them coming in the code. Or, at least, I can as an admin. But there was  _ nothing  _ there and I assume you weren’t there for more than a month which was as far back as I looked?” 

Techno shakes his head carefully, still gnawing on his fingers nervously. Xisuma nods, continues. “Okay. Well, yeah, I don’t really know how you got here so i was just wondering if  _ you  _ knew how? Just so I can make sure that there isn’t a hole in our server where someone  _ bad  _ could get in.” 

He hesitates, digs one of his tusks into the side of his hand until it  _ aches.  _ He doesn’t know, not really; he knows there was a portal, a swirling mass of power, but it felt like far more than a normal portal. He’d touched it and that was unusual because usually you had to walk into portals that was why they were called doorways to worlds, because that was what they were.

He hesitates, fingers hovering over Xisuma’s communicator, hands shaking a little. He doesn’t believe that he trusts them to listen if he says it like this but he’s exhausted and he can’t make the words come and he’s so  _ tired  _ and he...doesn’t want them to make him leave because he doesn’t cooperate, not yet.

“There was a portal. It was not like other portals. I just touched it and then I was in the forest” The communicator on his wrist speaks up, the artificial voice grating on his ears and he whines. “Oh shoot, sorry kiddo; there press that button there to make it pop up the screen so we can read it instead of it reading it out.” He studies the button, but it’s the same as on his communicator so he at least trusts it won’t explode.

It doesn’t; he holds his arm out, slightly, so the other two can see the screen with the text. Xisuma nods; Techno can see it written onto his face that the man understands that the  _ touching it  _ was the important part there. “Okay, thanks kiddo.” Xisuma sighs; there is nothing to say. There is no way to ask if this child is friends with any minor gods, because that’s the  _ only  _ real way that that portal situation would make sense. 

“So, now some slightly more fun questions. Maybe. Im not sure fun is the right word.” The admin shrugs, gives the teen a very kind smile that he does not believe is not faked. “Do you have any other clothes besides the ones you’re wearing?” Techno stiffens, giving a tiny shake of his head, and the man nods. “Okay, once you’re feeling up to it we can get you down to the shopping district and find you some new stuff.” 

“Is there anything else you need us to get you that will help you adjust to being here or make you feel safe or  _ anything?”  _ Techno shakes his head, hard and fast; he knows the cost. He will not risk that cost, not when he has no way of knowing what the payment they ask for will be. He doesn’t need anything, he has made do with far less than clothes and his bag. He doesn’t need more than that.

Xisuma sighs internally, makes a note to have Grian grab anything he thinks the teen will use. “Okay. one more thing kiddo, is there anyone you want us to help you get in contact with?” The boy stiffens, starting to shake a little, and Xisuma curses himself for even asking.

There is not good answer. He wants Fruit and he wants Phil and he wants Wilbur and hell, he wants Tommy not to hate him but it doesn’t matter because he does and Phil is on a server that you can not call into and Wilbur...he doesn’t think he can stand thinking about where Wilbur probably is. He’s trembling, tears staining his hand and he can’t bring himself to ask.

He can’t drag Fruit into this, not like this, can’t have him feel  _ forced  _ to help because strangers call him like this. He won’t. He whimpers, wraps his arms tightly around himself and tries to avoid bursting into tears again because he just wants to be  _ safe _ . 

Xisuma and Scar are talking but their voices blend into static in the back of his terrified brain. He dully notices that his hand is bleeding where his teeth have been gnawing on it, leaving him whimpering and trembling in pain and fear. He rocks hard; he will hate himself, later, for it, for looking so weak in front of these people who he wants to not  _ hate  _ him, but right now, he has nothing left to stop himself.

He is sobbing, gasping little breaths as he rocks frantically, one hand flapping against his chest the other clinging to his hair as he cries. Scar looks near tears as he watches, hands shaking a little. “Scar, tell Grian to grab some stim toys for the kid while he’s at Mumbos? And see if Mumbo has an extra weighted blanket but  _ don’t  _ let him loan his only one that didn’t go well last time.” 

Scar hesitates but Xisuma reiterates himself again, uses his Admin voice, and the man nods and rolls rapidly towards where he stores his elytra. Xisuma doesn’t move, keeps his position crouched in front of the teen who is clearly having a bad meltdown, talking gently and calmly about his bee farm and how he had managed to recruit Iskall to help him fix a redstone issue that he’d been having with the honey collection method and how now he owed Iskall a favor which was sure to get him recruited into something absurd.

He was so tired. His head throbbed and his leg ached and he felt raw, torn open and embarrassed. He could hear Xisuma talking but the words were too much for his fried brain to make out. He flinched back hard as something soft was draped over his legs, forcing his glazed eyes open to see Xisuma settle back into his spot a few feet away, a soft blanket now tucked over his own lower body.

“You’re okay” He makes out through the static in his brain, the words soft enough not to grate on his overexposed nerves. “It’s okay, Techno. I’m sorry if I said something that scared you. What do you need right now?” He curls smaller around his better leg, and Xisuma nods, taking a step forward to set a water bottle down by his elbow.

It’s sealed, so he fumbles till the cap is off and downs most of it in a few frantic gulps. It soothes the burning in his chest, calms the more wild edges of his mind until he can  _ breathe,  _ shaky but solidly. It’s that moment that he’s struck with just how  _ exhausted  _ he is; his eyes are already half-closed, the meltdown clearly draining his fragile energy reserves.

He wants to flee, now, from this admin who has seen him be so weak, so  _ broken,  _ but there’s just no way he can move enough to sit up, much less enough to run or beg or do  _ anything.  _ He feels fragile, like if someone nudged him the wrong way he’d shatter or more accurately slice them open. 

He glances towards his backpack, a few feet away, and Xisuma gives him a gentle smile. “You want your bag bud?” He bites his lip but the man is already moving and so he gives a tiny nod. “Okay, let me get that” he smiles as he sets it down by Techno’s hands, heart breaking as the teen sluggishly flinches away and mewls.

Techno fumbles with his bag, one traitorous hand reaching in and latching onto  _ soft soft soft soft soft.  _ He’s too tired to care as his traitorous fingers tug the stuffed pig out into his arms, presses his face into it and inhales the smell of warm campfires and damp leaves and the smell of the wind in the morning and it smells so much like Fruit and Phil sort of mushed together that he clings even harder, dozing off like that.

Xisuma leans back in his chair with a sigh as he watches the teen. He pushes away his own anger with himself for clearly triggering the teenager, because he had no way of knowing, and turns his attention to pulling out his spare communicator and shooting a message to Grian and Scar to be quiet when they got back. Then he leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling, silently sitting guard over the newest person he intended to protect with his life. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long I was trying to get myself to like this chapter and then I realized that wasn't happening lol. Next time, we get some backstory for Mumbo Scar Grian and Iskall, and Techno goes on a trip to the shopping district. I do need ideas for which hermit to introduce next (Beside Mumbo and Iskall) so...ideas please lol


	4. Stim-E-E's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Etho is surprisingly understanding, Phil plots, and Techno just doesn't fucking understand what is going on

Phil walked home slowly. His mind was still stuck on what Dream had told him less than an hour before, on the sneer on the man’s face, so unlike the fake smile he’d used to use. “Where is Techno?” Phil had asked, one hand resting on his sword hilt. He had not threatened, had not demanded, had just asked. And Dream had  _ smirked,  _ not looking even the least bit perturbed. “Oh, didn’t I tell you? He’s  _ very _ dead.” 

Phil had barely been able to restrain himself from stabbing the man then and there, stopped only by the knowledge that he only had one life to lose on this world and if he had to leave, he would leave Wilbur alone and Tommy alone, even if Tommy wasn’t thrilled with him at the moment. 

“Dadza!” Wilbur grinned as he slipped into their home, shucking off his coat and boots since he was safe from the snow and chill inside. Looking at his eldest son, smiling like this looking so  _ alive  _ reminded him of just how much healing Wilbur had done in the last few months.

“I ran into Dream today.” Wilbur stiffened, and Phil sighed. “Oh? Did you ask him about Techno’s location I really want to go get him.” Phil nodded, dragging a hand through his hair with a sigh. “I did. He said Techno is dead.” Wilbur stills, face paling. “He’s lying, Dadza, Techno doesn’t die there’s no way.” 

Phil sighed, leaning his head back and staring up at the ceiling. “I know, Wil. I know. But that’s why I’m concerned.  _ Why is he lying? What _ is he hiding? What is he doing to Techno.” Wilbur snarled, protective and furious. “If he has laid a finger on Techno…we are not going to let him stand.” Phil nodded, sighing quietly. “We need to talk to Tommy.” 

Scar landed in Mumbo’s base, bracing himself on the wall as he settled into his chair. He glanced around, rolling towards the sound of Mumbo and Grian arguing. “Uh, you two good here?” He calls around the corner as he rolls into the room. Grian and Mumbo are staring at each other. “No, Scar please tell Mumbo he’s not loaning his only weighted blanket out again?”

Scar grimaced, remembering the last time; it had ended in Mumbo not sleeping in three days and stubbornly refusing to ask for the blanket back from Iskall, who had been borrowing it, until Grian had thrown up his hands and called Iskall himself. “Mumbo, while I’m sure Techno would appreciate it, we all prefer you without severe sleep deprivation. Now C’mon this communicator is  _ wrecked  _ man, and I don’t know the first thing about how to fix it.” 

Mumbo grimaced a little as he took it, flipping it over to examine it. “Oh this is really busted...do you want it working or do you want it with the same files and all it had before?” “The second if that’s possible.” Scar speaks up. “It’s for Techno.” He’d sent a few messages in the groupchat the day before, explaining the situation so people would make sure not to loudly drop by his base unannounced as some of them were prone to do.

Mumbo nods, clearly already getting engrossed in the repair work as he fumbled on his belt for his tool kit. “If you see Iskall, I could use him; communicators have super specific tech and he’s better at it than I am I’m better at larger-scale redstone.” Grian nods, grabbing his rockets to go see if he could find Iskall. “I’m gonna go stop by and grab some stim toys for Techno, yeah? You find Iskall.” Scar offers, and Grian nods both of them taking off.

He lands in the shopping district a few minutes later, heading further into the city. He hadn’t been to the shop that...who owned this one, he thought it might be a cooperative thing between Doc and Etho but he wasn’t entirely sure, recently. It was tucked in sort of near the barge. He rolled in, blinking for a moment and considering the options before grabbing a few different sized chews and one of the more complicated fidget cubes, pulling out his ender chest to grab diamonds to pay before pulling his rockets back out and heading back towards home. 

Techno was not sure how he’d gotten into this situation. He’d woken up early, still curled up in a chair, and been greeted with a glass of water and a healing potion. Despite...everything that had happened the day before Scar had smiled at him and brought him fruit salad and Grian had flopped down in another chair and suggested “Hey, kid? We were thinking of going down to the shopping district to get you some clothes and things, do you want to come with us so you can pick out stuff you’d like?” 

He stills. There’s...a lot to digest there; this place has a whole district for shopping? They sold clothes? And when they said to get him clothes was he expected to pay for that now or could he just pay them back? He really wanted to get out of the torn, scratchy clothes he’d been wearing recently…

“Oh, and here kid I grabbed you a few stim toys when I was in town yesterday.” Scar set down the box on the table and the teen reached slowly forward to take it, eyes wary. He cautiously opened it, making a surprised little sound at there actually being stim toys in the box. He stared at them with wide, confused eyes, glancing back up at Grian, who pulled his own fidget cube and started to mess with it.

Techno reached in, cautiously, pulling out one of the chews and starting to work his teeth into it. It felt  _ much  _ better than his hand and no one yelling at him made him relax slightly; it wasn’t a promise, this was probably a trap and they were probably going to hurt him for this later but at the moment he was okay with that as long as he got this for now. 

“So, do you want to come with us? It’s completely up to you, we’d be traveling through the nether to get there easily since in the overworld it’s a bit of a trek. Either way, completely up to you, no pressure.” Techno hesitated, biting the toy a little harder as he considered. He knew he was picky when it came to textures so...maybe he should go? Then at least they wouldn’t be able to get stuff that felt awful and get angry when he wouldn’t wear it. Or, well, they probably could, but he’d at least have forward warning.

_ Plus, being outside gives me more chances to figure out a way out of here when you have to run  _ chat points out, which, fair. He nods cautiously, relaxing a little when Scar smiles because apparently that’s the right choice. “Alright, let us know when you’re ready to go.” 

He took that as “get ready asap” and so that was what he did, pulling himself up and grimacing at the stab of pain in his leg; he definitely had to use the chair again, as much as he did not want to look weak. His leg ached too much for it to be healed enough to walk on and so he sunk into the wheelchair, only then realizing Piggy was still tucked to his chest.

He cursed himself for his own fucking stupidity as his breathing shortens slightly, grip on the pig stuffie tightening. “Techno?” Grian’s voice is quiet; he can practically see the cogs turning in the teenager’s head. “Techno. We are not going to take your stuffed animal, or  _ anything  _ of yours  _ ever. _ It’s okay.” He doesn’t quite believe it, and that’s written on to his face, and Scar moves, setting down an ender chest. “Would you like to put them away so you know they’re somewhere we can’t get them?” He offers, and Techno hesitantly does so; he’s not sure why they’re offering that much security but he’ll take it. 

That minor crisis over, he quietly follows the two men to the shopping district. The path through the nether is  _ amazing;  _ it’s blackstone and lit so well and it seems far safer than most nethers Techno has ever been in. He’s so distracted by his surroundings that he barely notices that he’s made it to the other portal.

He wheels through, blinking at the brightness and then giving a startled little sound at the buildings around him. Sure, what he’d seen of Scar’s base had been immaculately constructed, but he’d assumed that was just...Scar being good at building. This place looked  _ amazing  _ and that meant...that meant that  _ lots  _ of people in this world were good at building and he didn’t know what to do with that information.

He glanced around as they went, noting which buildings seemed occupied and which seemed unoccupied, noting where the alleyways were and where he could potentially climb walls once his leg was healed, until they reached the store. 

It was bigger than he had expected though to be fair he’d never been to a whole store that had clothing before. His only real experience buying clothing had been just...just after he’d met Fruit, still in his rags from the pit. The young man had brought him to the general store and helped him pick out a few tunics and pants that didn’t rub on his wary skin. 

He creeps further into the store, glancing around cautiously as he tries to figure out what to get. He’s not sure what costs the least, the prices are not easily available for him to see, so he glances around a little nervously, eyes catching on an oh-so-cozy looking sweatshirt. Chat squeals eagerly in the back of his head, practically begging for it.  _ Technosoft! E! E! Soooo soft!  _

“Helpful, Chat.” He mutters to himself, making a quiet deal for himself; get clothes that will actually survive combat and he can get the sweater, too, cause it’s not like it can make whatever he owes them in worse. He rolls slowly, finding a tunic section he can deal with and grabbing it in two colors. He considers for a few more minutes before finding a pair of pants that he doesn’t think will rub too badly.

He’s moving quickly as he rolls over, blinking longingly at the sweater.  _ We had a deal _ chat whines and so he hesitates, shakily pulls the sweater down and quietly hopes that he actually gets to keep these clothes for a little while. “There’s changing rooms in the back if you want to get changed now, kid?” Scar offers and gods, he wants to, but he also just wants to be  _ clean  _ first, doesn’t want to damage these new clothes and get yelled at for that.

“Xisuma wants to talk to us about something.” Grian muttered to Scar, quiet enough that the teen wouldn’t be able to hear it. “Etho said he can keep an eye on the kid, show him whatever it is he’s been working on or somethin’.” Scar nodded, glancing over at the teen who had ducked into one of the changing rooms and now had reemerged, wearing a tunic over dark parents with what looked like a sweater in a ball on his lap.

“Hey kid.” Scar rolled over to him. “We’re gonna be stopping by a friend of ours place, cause we need to talk to Xisuma about a project we’re working on. You want to meet our friend Etho? He can be a little bit...a lot, sometimes, but he’s a sweetheart.” 

Etho is waiting for them, leaning against the wall waiting for them. “Hi there. You two go have fun chattin’ with Xisuma, I’ll message you the coords of where we’ll be.” He glares at them a little when they both hesitate, pulling the screen on his communicator up and typing into it.

_ 3853 - 1323 ish. Go talk to Xisuma and then do some work on your builds you look stressed. I’ve got Techno for a while.  _

After a little more hemming and hawing Scar and Grian take off and leave Etho standing on a sidewalk with a trembling teenager with a shattered leg. “Come on lad, I’ve been working on something and I think you’d like it.” The way he talks to the teenager is different than the way Grian and Scar do; to them he is fragile, something that will be broken if they breathe on it wrong.

Etho knows better; the teen  _ is  _ shattered, is broken glass thrown onto concrete and burst into a million pieces. ‘Protecting’ this boy from being broken isn’t possible, and Etho doubts it’s been possible for a long time, but protecting him from further harm...that Etho can do. 

He leads the teen down the street, towards the small door practically tucked into an alleyway. He’s always been bad at meeting new people, at introductions, but he knows he needs to be the one who takes initiative here and so he does. “I think they told you, but ‘m Etho. I don’t make buildings quite like most of them do, I focus more on making places  _ in  _ places.” 

Techno glances over, confusion overriding the fear on his face for a moment, and so encouraged, he continues quietly. “I have a little pop up store, that I put in kinda other people’s areas. It’s been compared to like...a farmers market kinda before. But this isn’t that, this is...something more permanent that I’ve tucked in back here.”

He’s  _ so  _ proud of this space that the idea of the teenager hating it makes him a little nervous, but when Scar had told him about the boy he’d immediately thought of this place. He opened the door and stepped in, moving to the side to make sure there was room for Techno to get in. 

The teen’s eyes widened in confused surprise as he looked around the space. For the first time perhaps  _ ever  _ he was in a room that was dim, with lights that did not buzz, did not make a sound. It was soothing on his senses in a way that he hadn’t expected, the sudden absence of this thing that 99% of the time made him suffer.

Then he took in the room. The floor was hardwood, and there were containers on tables around the room, but that wasn’t what had caught his eye; he was staring at the hammock-looking things in the back area. Etho gave a small smile. “This is Stim-E-E’s. It’s not...a shop it’s just...a safe place for the other hermits. You can use whatever you want here, alright?” 

He wanders over to grab something for himself, mostly so Techno doesn’t feel like he’s being watched. He leans against the wall, fiddling with a cube and glancing out of the corner of his eye at the teenager.

Techno didn’t quite know what to make of this man. To be far, he also didn’t quite know what to make of any of these people, but this man was extra peculiar. He didn’t even look at him, fiddling with something, and Techno found himself relaxing very slightly at not feeling like there were eyes on him.

He found himself looking down at a few containers, bringing his fingers forward to brush them over a board covered in different textures. Wood textures, fabrics, redstone, small gems, just about anything he could’ve wanted. He rested it on his lap slowly wheeling towards the hammocks. He glances nervously up at the other man but he doesn’t even look up so he hauls himself to vertical and drops into the hammock.

It’s comfortable, rocking as he does, cozy in a way that he doesn’t know how to describe. He runs his fingers over the board in his lap, lets himself get lost in it.

Etho glances over, giving a small, relieved smile when he sees the teen looks...content, almost, at the very least not panicking. He doesn’t want to push, not at all, so he leans against the wall fidgets with a small redstone contraption and lets them just...coexist there, Techno’s quiet breathing filling the air.

He knew it wouldn’t last but it still hurts when the teen wakes up screaming bloody murder. He doesn’t move, mostly because he doesn’t want to spook him but also because...yeah, after a few moments he can see the teen still looks wary but he’s clearly calmed himself. 

“Hey kid” The boy flinches but Etho keeps talking. He knows what it is to be the most damaged person in a room and he is certain the teenager doesn’t want to be patronized. He’s not okay and asking if he is is just going to make him feel like he has to say yes in Etho’s opinion.

“Do you mind if I come over and show you something?” He shrugs so Etho does, pads across the room to sit down nearby. The kid flinches but ends up back in his starting position so Etho doesn’t move away. He’s never been fantastic with people but he knows  _ reactions  _ and he knows there’s a difference, an important one, between flinching out of fear and pulling away from someone because you want them to move.

He shifts the small, carefully bound book in his hands till it’s at an angle where Techno can see the pictures, almost two dozen carefully sketched images to go with the twenty-odd emotions written below it, from “Happy” to “Scared” to “Needing a Break” to “Uncertain.”

“Now, this is a trick my friend Beef showed me a long time ago. If it’s too hard to use words, you can use this to show how you’re feeling” He holds it out, gives Techno plenty of time to reject it or take it and in the end the teen slowly grasps it, tugs it into his lap till it’s resting against the sensory board he’d snagged.

“You can keep that, I made like, twenty-seven of them.” Techno flinches again. He doesn’t understand this man, who doesn’t shy away when he growls and doesn’t move when he flinches. He doesn’t know if he likes feeling so easily read yet at the same time he had not been around a person who so visibly didn’t fear him or his reactions to things in months.

Techno stares down at it, carefully flips from page to page. He can see the effort that’s been put in, but beyond that...he’s afraid. He still remembers the pits, being kicked and beat if he didn’t make his words work and Dream had been  _ worse,  _ and...he can’t do it again. But they hadn’t, Xisuma hadn’t yelled at him when he’d used the communicator and maybe…

Etho glanced back up as he heard the pages ruffle and then an exhausted,  _ afraid  _ looking Techno was turning the book to look at Etho, flipping between the pages for confused and terrified. “Okay. Do you want to talk about it?” Techno blinks again, but he  _ really really doesn’t  _ but is that the right answer does the man want him to agree? Will he be upset if he doesn’t? 

He wants to trust them and he doesn’t know how to do that without pushing them and waiting for them to react so he  _ won’t  _ trust them and so he gives a small shake of his head and waits for the sneering comment or the blow and…

And Etho nods simply. He crosses the room, fetches a weighted blanket from being folded in a box in the corner and flicking it over the teen. Techno flinches, hard, but it’s not hard to see him relax as he curls up under it. “I got your six.” Etho promises as he goes to get himself a more comfortable chair so he can watch the door until one of the others comes back or the kid wakes up, whichever comes first. 


End file.
